Orpheus: Homecoming (The Orpheus Trilogy Book 2) (4 page)

He motioned to Tino. “Start talking.”

German, the senior of the two, said, “We represent-”

Holt cut him off. “I already don't like you, so you should just shut the fuck up.”

Tino had to stifle a laugh.

“Who are you?”

“Can I reach for my ID?”

Holt nodded, but raised the sidearm. "Get his, too." Tino reached into his front pocket, pulled out his badge, did the same with his partner's, and tossed them both at Holt's feet. Holt picked them up without taking his eyes off of the men. He glanced at the badges.

“OSI?”

“Office of Special Investigations.”

“I know what OSI is, kid. I was Air Force for years. Which I'm not anymore, by the way. So what is OSI doing in my town tailing me?”

“I realize I'm not in a position to be asking things, but are you satisfied we are who we say we are, and we're here on business?”

“I don't doubt you're OSI.”

“Then can we get up?”

Holt considered this. “All right. Let's head someplace public.” He held up Tino's SIG Sauer. “I'll hold on to this for now, though. Get up.”

Tino and German got up stretched their legs out. German, who had said nothing since Holt had shut him down, asked, “Can I have my gun back, at least?”

Holt tossed German's gun to Tino, but kept the magazine. “Nope. You want the rounds, come at this fossil. Now grab a table at that cafe across the street. I need to make a call.”

They found an open table and sat down. Holt dialed and spoke briefly to the person at the other end. “Hey. I need you to have your special friend run a check for me. Mark German and Jerry Constantino. Confirm that they're Air Force OSI, and anything else that I may want to know. Thanks.”

“Who was that?”

“Don't worry about it.” A waitress approached. Holt ordered an iced tea. His new dining companions abstained. “Now, for the last time, why are you here?”

German began, “What we're about to tell you will be public shortly, but for the time being is classified. Just telling you this implies your consent to confidentiality. Some senators have formed an ad hoc committee to explore the possibility of …”

“… of returning to the island and, what would they call it, 'depopulating' it or something like that?”

German and Tino exchanged a glance. Tino said, “How could you know that?”

Holt took a sip of his tea. After he swallowed, he continued. “It was only a matter of time. There's potentially a huge threat there. Securing it is only a temporary fix, and whoever takes lead on it will score big political points.”

“You're right,” German continued. “The belief is that the island needs to be scrubbed completely. No zombie left alive, so to speak.”

Holt put on an exaggerated appearance of shock. "Whaaaat? You mean that half-assed bombing didn't do the trick? They don't want to risk aerosolizing the virus and ending the world again?"

German shrugged. "My orders don't include having an opinion on that."

"I bet."

Tino picked up. “We were sent here to gauge you. See what you're about.”

“Meaning?”

“Our boss wanted to make sure you're not just rep, that you didn't become some sort of legend based on nothing more than a slick public relations campaign.” German said. “I can confidently report that's not the case.”

Tino nodded emphatically.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence. Let's just cut to the chase. The answer's no.”

“Come on, Holt,” Tino started, and was met with a cold look. “Mr. Holt. We haven't even asked you the question yet. You don't know what they're offering you. You don't even know who's asking.”

Holt wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it down on the table in preparation to leave. “In order. You want me to run, or appear to run, whatever op you're planning. I'm now pretty flush with cash, so the offer won't impress me. And I don't give a flying fuck who's asking, because, whoever it is from the President on down, I don't owe them an audience. Look, you boys seem okay, and I realize you're just doing your job, but forget it. I'm done with that place. I respectfully decline.”

“Will you at least speak to the Colonel? I can call him right now.” Tino almost sounded like he was pleading.

“You don't want me to have to answer a second time.” He stood up and slid the gun and magazine across the table. He put his earbuds in and said, “Thanks for the drink. Now get the fuck out of my town.” He walked away, this time heading for home, trusting that his point had been made.

German pulled a five out and dropped it on the table. He sighed and dialed his cell phone. “Ralston's not going to be happy.”

Tino rubbed the back of his head and said, “Suddenly, Ralston doesn't seem as scary anymore.”

It was a great day.

For the first time in recent memory, Holt was able to cross his street and get the mail by himself. No questions, no photos, not even any neighbors in their yards … nothing. He could almost hear Martin Trager's supremely smug voice saying,
I told you so. Storm over. Damn, I'm good.

He stood in front of the mailbox and just enjoyed the silence from all things unnatural. A glance at the street in either direction revealed no approaching cars. No pedestrians. No human life of any kind.

No, he had this gorgeous July afternoon all to himself.

He reached in the mailbox and pulled out a thick stack of assorted envelopes and ads. The bills (no longer a problem) had been replaced by more credit offers, the shopping circulars a mere annoyance, the pleadings from local politicians immediately passed over.

It was looking every inch the perfect day, the kind of day that might make one forget about an upcoming anniversary, especially when that anniversary was better forgotten.

The invitation brought it all back.

It was a horrible day.

O

Jackie rolled over, not quite conscious, assuming that her arm would fall across her husband's sleeping body.

It hit cold sheets, and her eyes popped open a moment later. She propped herself on one elbow and squinted around the room, which was softly illuminated by the overhead bathroom nightlight. “Cam?” No answer. “Cam?” she repeated, as she got her feet under her and slid into her slippers. She pushed open the door to the bathroom, which was unoccupied.

Jackie opened the door to her son's room. Ethan and Rachel were fast asleep. The same was true for her parents.

She felt a growing sense of unease as she headed to the first floor. “Cam? Where are you?” He wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. A peek into the driveway showed that his car was still there. All of the entry doors were locked from the inside.

She heard a cry of pain and a shout of “Motherfucker!” coming from the basement. She reacted without thinking, grabbed a long knife, and took the basement stairs two at a time.

She jumped to the landing, knife held in front of her.

Cameron Holt stood in front of a punching bag, rotating his wrist and grimacing. He faced his wife nonchalantly. “Hey.”

Jackie threw her hands out with a flourish, all exasperation. “Hey? That's it? You scared the shit out of me! I actually grabbed a knife!”

He finished re-wrapping his hands. He rotated his wrist a few more times, and was apparently satisfied enough to go back to hitting the bag. “I couldn't sleep,” he said as he struck the bag with several straight jabs. “Calm down.”

“You know I hate it when you say that. I was just worried about you.”

“What,” he grunted as he threw a hook to the body. “Did you want me to leave you a note?” He gradually increased the pace of his blows.

Jackie stormed over to him and glared at his silhouette. “That's hilarious.”

He responded by throwing a flurry of punches, giving the impression of a fighter trying to steal a round just before the bell.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I remember a guy who would always apologize for making me worry.”

Holt gritted his teeth and his punches became a blur.

“Jesus, Cam, look at -”

He whirled on her. “Can you just leave me the fuck alone, already?!?”

She was startled, but she held her ground, and his gaze, for several seconds. She spoke with voice free from inflection. “When you're ready to talk, come upstairs. Until then, do what you have to do to work your shit out. And ice that wrist, because you might need it for a while.” Having said what she wanted to say, she took a step away from him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Wait. Just wait.”

She didn't pull away from him, but she didn't turn, either.

Satisfied that she was going to stay, Holt grabbed an envelope off of the pool table. He pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to her.

She noticed two things immediately. It was expensive stock, and it was an invitation to something. She read aloud. “We request the honor of your presence at the Lost Whaler Island Memorial Gala ...” She stopped reading and looked at her husband.

“It brought everything back, Jackie. The nightmares, and the paranoia, were finally gone, or close enough to it. Under control, at least. And this fucking envelope brought it all back in a hurry.”

She dropped the letter on the floor and hugged him. “Baby, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you.”

“I thought I could handle it. I will handle it.”

“I know you will. We all will.” She threw a glance at the clock.
Well, that sucks.
“Hey, do you want to join me for a really early breakfast?”

Holt began to take off the wraps. “Yeah, that sounds good. Just give me a minute to cool down.” Whether it was his intent or not, Jackie picked up on the double meaning.

She touched his forearm. “Is your wrist okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just hit the bag wrong and rolled it. I wasn't exactly focusing on technique.”

She nodded and walked upstairs.

She was halfway up when he said, “Jac?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that.”

She tried to smile, but her heart was breaking for him. All he wanted to do was put the island behind him forever. “Neither did you.” She continued up the stairs and out of sight. Holt soon heard the sounds of cooking.

He slowly rolled the wraps up and placed them back in the gym bag. He wiped down with a towel and threw that on top. He picked up the invitation, muttered, flipped it onto the pool table, and headed up to the kitchen.

He inhaled deeply. The smell of bacon and coffee hit his nostrils immediately, and the eggs mere moments after they hit the hot skillet. He sidled up behind her and gently rubbed her upper arms. “You work fast.”

She stirred the eggs and laughed. “I know how you get when you're hungry.”

He kissed her exposed neck, and she cocked her head to one side.

“Mmmm, that's nice.”

“No, that's actually pretty gross, Ma.”

Holt laughed into his wife's neck. “Looks like breakfast for two is out.”

He saw Ethan standing in the doorway rubbing sleep out of his eyes and yawning. “Rachel will be down in a sec. She wanted to brush her teeth, but I decided to just launch face first into food.”

“I'm sorry, sweetie, I didn't mean to wake you.”

Ethan grabbed four coffee mugs, added cream and sugar, and filled them, which all but killed the pot. He took a sip, savored it, and said, “It's all good, Ma. I don't think that any of us sleep all that heavily anymore. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just had some energy to burn off.”

Ethan put the mugs on the table and sat down. He nearly fell out of the chair as one of the wooden braces underneath separated from the rest. His arms pinwheeled for a second, then he righted himself. “Maybe not that one.” He flipped it over and banged the wood back home.

The elder Holt said, “I'll pick up some wood glue and fix that later.”

Rachel padded into the kitchen and flipped her long hair sleepily. She sat down at the table, crossed her arms, and plopped her forehead down.

“Good morning, Rachel!” Holt said with exaggerated cheer, and Rachel gave him a muffled response and a thumbs-up. Holt slid a coffee mug closer to her. She didn't raise her head, but fumbled around blindly until she found it.

Jackie finished cooking, Holt set the table, and Ethan made a new pot of coffee.

Save for the hour, breakfast was normal.

“So, what were you two yelling about in the basement?” Ethan asked between forkfuls of eggs.

Holt was surprised, and traded a glance with his wife. “I was a little tense about something and took it out on her for a second. Normal married stuff.”

“Ah. Is it about the anniversary gala?”

“Now how in the world did you know that?”

Rachel smiled thinly. “My parents got my invitation the day before and called me. I didn't take it well, either.”

“We thought you already knew about it, Dad.”

“It's all right. It just took me by surprise.”

“Are you going to be okay with the speech?”

Holt paused, a strip of bacon an inch from his lips. “What speech?”

“Oh, boy,” Ethan said. “You didn't actually read the whole thing, did you?”

“Judging by his tone, I'm going to guess not,” Jackie said.

“Tell me.”

“Um, you're kind of the keynote speaker.”

The kitchen fell into silence, and no one moved. Whether subconsciously or not, all movement ceased while they anticipated what the reaction would be: violence, depression, tears, or something else. Everything was on the table.

The reaction was a long sigh followed by a defeated, “I suppose it's too early to start the heavy drinking.”